


this is very personal

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Dark Percival Graves, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gang Rape, Graphic Violence, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, Rape (Credence/OCs)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Working as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has earned Percival Graves enemies. Enemies who discover the wizard has a husband he's kept in secret and generally hidden. Little do they know the full extent of the wrath lurking inside Mr. Graves if properly provoked.Written this prompt on the kinkmeme: Credence and Graves have been married for a while, and some of Graves enemies figure this out, even though Graves tried to keep it as quiet as possible. They kidnap Credence, Graves finds them, and they rape Credence in front of Graves. Graves gets free of his bindings and manages to stop them, and tortures them all until Credence begs him to stop.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original kinkmeme link: http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1184.html?thread=1653408#cmt1653408
> 
> Mind the tags.

"What about you is so special?"

Credence barely registers the words spoken to him, fear overwhelming his senses, and as much as he just wants to tune this all out, send his mind somewhere far, far away, he is so very present. The wizard's hot breath ghosts over his face, and a sharp stink tinges Credence's nostrils. Tears sting their way down his fair cheeks, and not even the constricting Incarcerous ropes binding his legs together and his arms behind his back can stop the violent tremble overtaking his body. His toes hang an inch from the ground, an unseeable force keeping him upright as though suspended from the ceiling. 

"What is it about you that the great Percival Graves regards so highly?" The man is closer to his husband's age than his own, with dark gray hair and a thick mustache. Whillum, he's sure he heard one of the other men call him. He looks like he could have been a more refined man, but something about him is unhinged. Grabbing Credence's cheeks in one hand, Whillum applies enough force to make his lips pucker. "I see nothing worthwhile about you. You're a miserable squib."

A pulse of heat branches through Credence's chest, and his eyes narrow, but that anger lasts only a moment. The man is grinning, amused to have elicited such a reaction. It is, after all, the only inconsistency from his persistent crying all night.

"Touched a sore spot, have we?" Whillum chuckles, but then his features smooth to something more calculating, and he presses the pads of his fingers into his skin. "But there is something about you, isn't there? Why else would he keep you so hidden? So protected?"

One of the other men snorts. "Not protected enough." They call him Giles. He's also older, all three of them are. However, Giles' clothing is unkempt, and he's generally more disheveled. The same is true of the third man, who he thinks they called Hugh. 

Credence doesn't recognize their surroundings, though were he to guess, he would say it was an abandon No-Maj factory. For all he knows, they could be cities away. States. Countries.

"It's almost two a.m." Hugh grunts, straddling a dusty chair backwards with his arms draped against the edge.

Whillum finally releases Credence's face, lifting his wrist and pushing up his sleeve to read his watch. His gaze drifts off to the front of the building. "He'll be here."

_He'll be here._

If there's one truth Credence can hold onto right now, it's that his husband will come for him. He will be here soon, and he will put an end to all this. His husband is a strong wizard.

Yet as much as he tries to assure himself of this truth, doubt keeps flickering in the back of his mind, coiling downward and wrapping around his beating heart like a grip of ice. What if he doesn't come? Perhaps even more unsettling is the way that doubt shifts between insecurity and resignation, as though he doesn't deserve saving in the first place. It took months, years even to recover and flourish from the abuse he faced in childhood. It only takes a few minutes to coming crashing back down. 

Percival had risked so much for him, to keep him safe and hidden. Men like them were as well regarded in the wizarding community as they were the No-Maj one. Yet all those barriers were broken, and when Credence tried to defend himself in a last ditch effort, he may as well have had a toy wand for all the good his own did him.

It's not the wand's fault, of course. It's his. He was captured and so very ashamed of himself for it, after everything his husband had done for him, finding him and taking him in. Percival felt personally responsible for what Grindelwald did using his face, even though Credence knew better. 

The falling in love and marrying in secret bit had not been part of the plan, but it happened anyway.

A crack breaks the silence, and Credence's eyes widen. The sight of his husband in front of him brings a wave of relief that fills his lungs when he breathes in, yet shame weighs him down only a moment later.

However, just as quickly as he sees him, sparks and streams of a variety of colors erupt from the end of Percival's wand. The assault is absorbed by a barrier separating Percival and Credence as well as the other three men. His husband picks up on this quickly, swirling into a shrinking loop, only to have his features twisted in an array of frustration and confusion when he reappears in the exact same spot. The end of his wand glows as his eyes dart all around, as though searching for any sign of weakness he can exploit to break through.

Whillum has clearly anticipated these moves, and he chuckles lowly. "Not even you can penetrate this barrier, Mr. Graves. That, I made sure of."

His words have little effect on Percival's resolve, growling as a new assault of lights and colors crash into the barrier.

Drawing his wand, Whillum jabs it right against Credence's throat, making him whimper. "I would stop that, if I were you," he warns. "I would hate to ruin such fine silk with bloodstains." Both Giles and Hugh are on their feet, wands in hand, keeping close to the leader of this operation.

Percival's eyes illuminate like a wildfire, a fury unlike anything Credence has ever seen in them before. There's something else there too.

_Fear._

Grudgingly, the spells cease, and Percival lowers his wand.

A fresh wave of tears stream down the sides of Credence's face, enough to obscure the scene before him. "I-I'm sorry!" he stammers. "I-I... I tried!"

"It's okay, Credence," Percival replies. Despite the wand against his throat and the invisible barrier between them, the confident calm in his husband's tone is reassuring. "This isn't your fault. It's there's."

A raucous laugh bursts from Whillum' mouth. He shakes his head as it tapers off. "Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Graves. This is _your_ fault. You've meddled in my life, taken away everything that I worked so hard for, and now? I'm going to return the favor." His brows raise as though to feign curiosity. "But how to take everything away from a man so staunchly married to his job? Short of the downfall of the MACUSA, which would be an incredible feat, no doubt, but perhaps not the most practical."

Percival looks sufficiently unimpressed, but his guard is as sharp as ever. "Your own greed lost you everything, Whillum. Don't manipulate the situation. Besides that, he had nothing to do with it." His eyes flit over to Credence a moment before looking at the wizard holding the wand against his throat again. "I'm warning you. Let him go. You got me here like you wanted. He has no part in this."

"But doesn't he?" The tip of the wand digs into Credence's throat, and Whillum's other hand lifts to push a lock of hair behind the younger wizard's ear, which has grown over the years. The light calloused touch has the hair rising on the nape of Credence's neck, and his shoulders tense. 

"How ever could I get to a man whose defined himself by his dedication to his work, I asked myself?" Whillum continues. Credence can see him staring right at him from the corner of his eye. The fingers are still in his hair and ever so gently, they twirl around a dark lock before dragging the pad of one down his jawline. The gesture is so minimal, yet it has Credence shivering. "And then we found him." 

Percival's strong brow is tightly furrowed, his hand clenched around his wand so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and Credence knows that the only reason there's not sparks shooting out of it is because of the wand pressed against his throat.

"Giles," Whillum snaps, and the other wizard is at attention. Whillum doesn't even need to tell the man what to do from there. Giles holds his palm out flat and points his wand toward it. With an upward flicking motion, a ring appears as though summoned from an invisible pouch. The once grand gemstone mounting it is now cracked and darkened.

Credence's ring. The ring Percival gave him the day he asked him to marry him. The final barrier of the several layers his husband had cast around him to keep him safe.

The sight of it draws a choked sob from Credence's mouth, and his head drops forward. Tears leave little dark spots on the musty floor right in front of his toes. "I'm sorry... I-I'm so sorry..."

"It's alright, Credence," he hears his husband say with a calm that is growing strained. "You're going to go home now, okay? I want you to go find Tina--"

"You are not calling the shots here, Mr. Graves!" Whillum spits, his composure faltering. The gentle fingers in his hair suddenly delve into the locks on the back of his head and tangle into a hard fist. "Do you not see the position you are in?" Yanking Credence's head back up, the wand twists, and Credence cries out as his skin burns and sizzles like a cigarette had been pressed to do it. "Drop your wand. Take a step back. Do it! Do it now, or I'll show you the inside of his throat!"

Through the haze of tears, Credence sees his husband's teeth bared. Loathing darkens Percival's narrow eyes, and his shoulders are hunched up menacingly, so much so that even Credence can't help but cower a bit from the sight. He is a complete antonym to the man that takes him in his bed and touches him so sweetly every night, making him feel beautiful and loved. 

A few tense seconds pass that feel more like a few hours, and the quiet empty warehouse is only disturbed by the lightest of clicks as Percival's wand hits the ground. He takes a few steps back. 

Whillum grins. "That's better." 

Finally, the wand is removed from Credence's throat, but the stinging of the small burn lingers. Whillum waves his wand, and the barrier separating them from his husband illuminates a silvery color, still transparent but now visible. The wall moves, shifting around Percival and closing in, until its a rectangular shape trapping him inside. He has enough room to press his palms against the magical surface in front of him but not much else.

Credence's eyes widen, and fear blossoms at the sight of his entrapped husband so potent that it outweighs the small burn on his throat, outweighs even the cramps in his arms and legs that the bindings had caused. "W-Wait, what are you...?" The words tremble from Credence's lips in a whisper. "No..." He shakes his head. "No, don't hurt him." More tears send warm lines down his cheeks. "Please. Don't hurt him. Please." Up to this point, he's been so frightened, so scared of what they were going to do to him that he hadn't considered what they might do to Percival in his stead. He knows how strong his husband is, yet that means little when he's contained by a seemingly impenetrable force.

" _Accio!_ " Hugh points his own wand, and Percival's leaps into the air right for him. He snatches it with his free hand.

Whillum turns to face Credence, a smile pressed onto his lips, eyes alight with a sadistic amusement. "Do you value his life so, little squib?" he asks. "That's good. It should make you more cooperative." His lips twist into a smirk, and without warning, the hand in his hair thrusts him forward.

Whatever force was holding him upright snaps, and Credence impulsively curls into himself. Unable to use his arms to break the fall, he hits the ground hard, a sharp yelp escaping his throat. His eyes screw shut, pain shuddering through his body and feeble whimpers slipping from his lips. The thuds of fists hitting something solid as well as his husband's shouts reach his ears, but they seem so distant.

Next thing he knows, Credence is on his back, and rough hands cup the sides of his face. His eyes flutter open, barely making out the outline of Whillum through the fog of tears and dirt. The heavy weight of the man straddles his chest.

With a flick of his wrist, the hovering ring shoots over to the end of Whillum's wand like a magnet, and he uses his other hand to catch it. Pinching the fine metal between his thumb and forefinger, he holds it up to examine it before grinning, eyes flitting to Credence a moment before turning his attention back to Percival. "Oh, Mr. Graves, didn't your mother ever teach you you're supposed to marry girls? What would your colleagues say if they knew you were a grotesque?"

Pocketing the ring and his wand, Whillum lowers a hand to gently cup the side of Credence's face, his dark eyes gazing down at him. "Perhaps you were confused and thought this one was a girl? He's certainly pretty enough to be, isn't he?" A single fingertip traces the sharp outline of Credence's cheekbone before finding the very edge of his pink lips. Credence's head jerks to the side.

Something about his tone of voice and gentle touch reminds him of Gellert Grindelwald all those years ago. Those soft whispers and hints of affection that Credence had believed were coming from the man he now calls his husband. He shudders to think now about the yearning they had stirred in him back then. A desire and ache that imploded on itself when he was met with betrayal, twice over when he learned that the Mr. Graves he befriended had never been him at all. 

Whillum touches him gently, carefully, not inflicting pain, but the simplest brush of skin has Credence's stomach curling as he tries to shrivel up into himself.

"Whillum!" 

When Credence peeks an eye open, he sees Percival using what little space he has to throw fists, palms, and shoulders against the silvery enclosure. The barrier is unyielding, but so is he.

"Let him go!" Percival snarls. "This is between you and me. He doesn't have anything to do with this. If you lay another finger on him, I swear you'll regret it. I'll see to it personally."

"You're finally getting it, Mr. Graves." Withdrawing his hands, Whillum takes hold of his belt, undoing it with a slight clink of metal. Credence's eyes widen as he watches him undo his pants. "This is very personal."

Whillum's hand reaches into his pants, and he pulls out his flaccid cock. "I wonder..." the wizard starts with a smirk. "If he _feels_ as good as a woman."

Realization settles into Credence like a wave of nausea, a heavy feeling, deep in his bones and to the pit of his stomach. His throat twists shut, and when he opens his mouth to speak, no words come out, no air even passes. Shaking his head hastily, he finds a pulse of strength, and his body squirms harshly trying to wriggle his way out from underneath Whillum.

Whillum's wand is out, and when he taps it, the bindings constrict harder, finally allowing Credence the breath to cry out. A fist curls onto the top of his dark locks, and he backs up a bit so he can yank Credence up into a sitting position. The pulse of pain on the crown of his head has Credence yelping.

"You ever see a grown man cry so much?" Hugh asks, he and Giles moving in closer. "Maybe he really is a little girl."

With a pang of horror, Credence realizes he hears a second unclasping of a belt and a third. His eyes screw shut, too afraid to look, but he can hear the distinct unzips and slight shuffling of fabric. Behind, he can hear Percival shouting, but it sounds so far away underneath the low chuckles encircling him.

"Percival..." he faintly rasps, knowing full well it will remain unheard, that it would be useless even if it was heard. He attempts to swallow, but his throat is too dry, too swollen to really manage it. "Please..." Credence's head tries to curl in, but it is met with resistance from the fist in his hair.

"Credence? That's what he said your name was, yes?" Whillum asks. "Look at me." When Credence doesn't comply, the fist in his hair tightens and yanks with enough force to pluck some of the strands from his head. "I said _look at me_."

Trembling, Credence slowly opens his eyes. The sight of Whillum's flaccid cock greets him first, which has a flush of heat rising on his cheeks, but his tear-blurred gaze quickly shoots up to meet Whillum's penetrating stare.

"Remember what I said about you cooperating?" Whillum smiles, and his tone has returned to that eerily soft and gentle one. "Look at your husband."

Credence sniffles and shakes, biting on the tip of his tongue to keep from openly sobbing, but the stifled cries still hum on the bottom of his throat. His head slowly and jerkily turns to see his husband, who is coated in his own sweat, red of face, but still unrelenting in his attempt to break through the barrier. In the corners of his eyes, he can see that Hugh and Giles have exposed themselves as he knew they had, but he focuses on Percival, trying to tune them out but so very conscious of it despite the effort.

"That enclosure does more than just contain," Whillum continues. "Hugh, show him."

The other wizard draws his wand and points it at the barrier. The silvery glow darkens to a deep scarlet, and suddenly, Percival is crying out, hands jerking back from the wall in front of him as though burned.

"No!" A spike of adrenaline has Credence sitting bolt upright, fighting against the bindings and the hand in his hair. Giles grabs his shoulders before he can wriggle away.

"And that's not all," Whillum coos, and Hugh swirls his wand, making the walls close in ever so slightly.

"No! Please don't!" The words tumble from Credence's mouth in a sob, and he no longer tries to contain it, crying freely. His face is a pink, sticky mess, leaking from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

The hand in his hair releases, fingers trailing down the side of his face before wrapping around his chin. Credence's head is tugged so that he's looking at Whillum again. "You're going to do what I say, Credence, understand? And right now I want you to pleasure me like you would your husband."

The underlying threat has been made clear, and although the last thing he wants is more pain to be inflicted on his husband, when his eyes fall to the heavy, limp member hanging in front of his face, Credence's impulse is to back away. His lips curl in, clamping them between his teeth to seal his mouth shut, and he jerkily shakes his head.

Whillum tuts, eyes rolling up to his henchmen. "Hugh."

"Wait!" Credence calls out before Hugh can lift his wand, knowing what will happen if he does. His eyes lift to Whillum's expectant expression a moment before lowering to his cock once more. 

His lower lip quivers, and without even looking his direction, he can feel Percival's eyes on him, watching his every move. Guilt weighs in his chest, only imagining the betrayal his husband must surely feel watching him right now. Managing a swallow that takes more effort than it should, Credence reluctantly opens his mouth.

"There's a good boy," Whillum breathes, the hand on his face moving so that he can rake his fingers through Credence's hair. "I wonder if you give Mr. Graves this much grief when he calls on you." His other hand takes the base of his cock, giving himself a couple strokes to get started before pulling Credence's mouth over it.

Credence's gag reflex contracts. He can't pretend the weight in his mouth is anything like servicing his husband. Credence pleasured his husband frequently, did so eagerly, always happy and proud that he could make him feel good. This is nothing like that. The musk on his taste buds and invading his nostrils is a vile stench that has his whole body tensing. A second fist joins the first in Credence's hair to hold his head in place while Whillum's hips rock, pushing his growing cock further and further into his mouth.

Clenching his eyes shut does nothing to ease his awareness of the situation, and tears still manage to seep through. Breathing takes more and more of an effort. Snot clogs his sinuses, and when Whillum's cock reaches the peak of hardness, he thrusts in suddenly and unrestrained, smacking into Credence's tonsils each time. The assault muffles Credence's sobs, but does nothing to quiet them. 

He can barely hear the din of obscene wet noises, grunts from Whillum, and shouts from Percival over the heavy beat of his pulse in his ears. A sickness spreads through his veins. He feels poisoned, tainted. The distinct sound of his husband's cries have grown strained, desperate, and Credence can't imagine him wanting anything to do with him after watching his lips wrapped around another man's cock.

His head is forcibly tipped back, and on the next thrust, Whillum's cock fills his throat. Credence's eyes snap open wide, and a panic floods him. Whillum's assault doesn't cease, and Credence lungs strain to try to get a breath in. He chokes and gags violently, body jerking and writhing out of impulse. His extremities tingle, and heat overtakes his whole body. He's certain that if Whillum keeps this up, he might actually choke to death. Strained sobs vibrate in his throat, but after a moment, he resigns, deciding that might be the better fate. After all, how would Percival even bear to look at him after this.

"All things considered, Mr. Graves," Whillum rasps in between pants. "Your little squib knows how to take a cock. Perhaps, I should keep him around. Would that make you feel better, Mr. Graves?" For as roughly as his hips pump, he maintains a collected tone and expression. "Promising to take good care of your squib once you're gone?"

"I'll kill you!" Pervical growls, fists and nails clawing at the barrier. "You're a dead man, Whillum! You're dead!"

"Oh," Whillum laughs, and just like that, he shoves Credence off his cock.

Hugh and Giles back away as Credence lands on his back, lungs shuddering as he desperately tries to suck in the oxygen his body was deprived of. Coughing and choking, he gasps for breath, wrists fighting against their restraints as he wants to reach up and rub the ache in his throat but to no avail. Head falling to the side, his eyes peek open, blinking away the blur to see his husband, knuckles cut and covered in his own blood from the unrelenting force he still throws at the barrier.

"Percival..." He's not sure if he actually whispers it or just thinks he does.

Hands curl around his shirt, and Credence looks up to see Whillum before he's suddenly flipped over, the cool touch of dirty concrete smacking his face. He has barely a moment to register what happened when he hears a sharp tear of fabric and the cold air strikes his bare ass directly.

Credence's eyes widen, and his shoulders jerk as he tries to squirm away. "N-No!" Hard hands curl around his hips and drag him back.

"How interesting..." Whillum muses. "I half expected to see a cunt."

His hands move to his cheeks and spread them apart. Before Credence can try to wriggle away again, Giles is on his knees in front of him, holding him by the shoulders. He feels the press of Whillum's cock head against his hole, cold from his saliva, and without warning, the tight ring is stretched too much, too hard, too fast, burning all the way in.

Credence's voice cracks as a cry tears from his throat. "It hurts!" His hips wriggle, and his fingers grasp at nothing, desperate to find some relief. "Please!" he sobs, struggling against his bindings, the pain shooting its way up his spine. He's not prepared, saliva is not a sufficient lubrication, and his inner fleshy walls snag and resist against the intrusion.

Something tears. Credence's whole body goes rigid, face wide and stunned as a sudden shout is cut off. Words fail him, but the cries that follow speak enough, pained and begging. His unspoken pleas fall onto deaf ears. Whillum's nails dig into the meat of his ass as he pounds into him relentlessly, Credence's body crumpling on itself, tensed and contorted as pain wracks through his whole body. All the while, all he can think of is his husband watching him. He thinks of their secret intimacy that they share only between them, which has only ever been a gentle expression of love. That intimacy has been stolen from them, contaminated, twisted into something savage and grotesque.

All Credence can do is weep.

His jaw is pried open, and Giles' cock is shoved into his mouth. Credence's nose crinkles as coarse pubic hair smacks into his face.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Credence thinks of Mary Lou, the woman he had once called ma. Preaching to him about the sins of the flesh, about the abominations of men who laid with other men, of the fiery pits of hell ready to consume those who gave into the Devil's temptation. He could not understand how the careful, benevolent touches his husband gave him could be seen as anything other than beautiful, but Mary Lou is right about one thing: Hell is real.

Time becomes abstract, and each passing moment is agony. Credence feels every individual second. His stomach is twisted up into knots, and at any moment, he expects it will spill up its contents. If the burn at the back of his throat is any indication, said contents are mostly bile. 

He just wants it to be over. Whether because they finish with him or decide to kill him, he no longer cares.

Giles draws back, and Credence's eyes crack open a moment to see the very tip of his glistening cock, but just as quickly as they open, they clench shut again. Just in time too, as a hot sticky splatter coats his face. Credence winces as though splashed in the face with cold water.

"Outta the way. I want a turn," Hugh grunts, shouldering Giles aside. He grabs Credence's chin.

A deafening crack inflicts silence upon the whole room, and the new intrusion Credence expects in his mouth never comes.

"Shit," Hugh breathes, and next thing Credence knows, Whillum is slipping out of him, all three men scrambling to their feet.

Credence drops to the ground. Curling his head in, he hunches up his shoulder to use the fabric to wipe off his face as best he can, eyes blinking open to find the source of what has everyone so startled.

Percival's palms are flat against the barrier, which has a large crack running down the very front as though made of glass. The glow has darkened to scarlet, but Percival's hands seem to illuminate as well. His face is twisted with rage, and Credence's eyes widen when he notices the way his long coat seems to flair at the ends, something unseen coursing and charging through Percival at an immense rate.

The large crack branches into several smaller ones with another sharp clink. Those branches produce even finer ones, spanning the whole area of the wall in front of him, until suddenly it bursts. Thousands of shards splatter across the ground like shattered glass before flickering away into nothing.

The three wizards are more preoccupied with tucking their dicks away than reaching for their wands. Percival holds his hand out toward Hugh, and his wand slips from the man's pocket, flying right back into its owner's grasp. By the time the other three have their wands out, Percival is cutting his through the air, sending out an invisible horizontal wave that hits all of them across the chest.

All three men fall flat on their backs, clutching at their chests as blood spurts from their identical gashes. Percival marches toward them, though he does spare a glance at Credence. With a flourish of his wand, the bindings suddenly disappear from his wrists and ankles. Credence groans as the blood rushing back to his extremities reawakens his sensitive nerves. 

Another swish of his wand, and a large glowing white sphere curls around Credence, but this isn't an enclosure. It's a shield.

Low moans wriggle from all three men, who hold their chests and try to push themselves back to their feet. Every shot of light sent Percival's direction is deflected. He points his wand at the ground, shooting out a rippling wave that groans loudly and has the whole warehouse rumbling. The men fall to their backs again, and even Credence claws at the walls of his bubble to keep steady from the force of it.

His husband caught them off guard, and even though he is outnumbered, the ambush put him in the advantage. Credence's whole body aches, and he can feel his pulse in his violated hole. His inner thighs feel sticky, but he's too afraid to look down to see the cause of it. He feels gross and used and ruined, and he can't imagine Percival even wanting to touch him after all that, doesn't feel he deserves it, but he still yearns for his closeness. He hopes that Percival sends them to Aurors to deal with, so that he can be alone with him. If his husband takes them in, then he'll be left at his lonesome for who knows how long, and right now, he just wants to be with Percival. He doesn't care where they are. He just wants him.

Percival points his wand in Hugh's face. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

Credence's eyes widen as the green glow reflects off the bubble. His mind reels and is in too precarious of a state to have any clear expectations, but the Killing Curse nevertheless comes as a surprise. Unforgiveables are an absolute last resort. Everyone knows that.

Hugh's lifeless head lolls to the side, dead eyes looking right at Credence, who shudders and averts his attention.

Whillum lifts his wand, but Percival disarms him with a flick of his own. " _Incarcerous!_ " Ropes shoot out of his wand and entangle around Whillum's arms and legs in the same manner that Credence had been bound.

His attention turns to Giles next, who has his wand pointed at him, but Percival is faster. " _Crucio._ "

Giles' wand hits the ground with a clatter, and his whole body contorts and twists in unnatural ways as screams rip from his throat.

" _Crucio!_ " Percival's teeth are bared, his wand clutched hard on his grasp, pointed right at Giles. His eyes are wild and utterly without remorse. He means it.

"Percival..." Credence wants to go home. He doesn't care what happens to them. He just wants to go home with his husband.

Sheathing his wand in his inner coat pocket, Percival walks right up to Giles and drops down to his knees. The wizard on his back pants for breath, moaning as his limbs shift around uncomfortably, clearly still aching from the magical attack.

Percival grabs him by the collar and yanks his shoulders off the ground. His other hand curls into a fist, knuckles colored red with dried blood from earlier. He holds it up high. Giles' head swirls around a bit disoriented, and he only just finds Percival's face before the fist crashes into his jaw and slams the back of his head into the hard floor.

He punches Giles again. And again. And again. The coat of blood on his hand becomes freshly painted, and Giles has a matching splash of it down his face. Every blow is followed by a heavy grunt or a desperate flail of arms, but the longer it goes on, the grunts are dulled down to a sickening crunch, and Giles' arms fall uselessly to his sides.

A new wave of curdling heat twists in Credence's stomach. Not that he feels pity for Giles. Far from it. He deserves everything he gets and then some. 

It's his husband. His sweet, tender husband who kisses away his pain, who brings a smile to his face, who taught him that love can grow even after having been buried in the darkest of shadows. His husband, who right now is so unrecognizable, brutal, sadistic, remorseless. No, Credence doesn't feel pity for Giles, but the sight of Percival scares him.

"Percival!" Credence calls out a little more desperate, fingers lifting after to touch the ache in his throat. He just wants to go home.

His husband pauses, glancing back, and Credence can't find words, but the look on his face must say it all. "Look away, Credence," he says firmly.

"Please..."

"I said look away," he insists. "I don't want you seeing this."

With a nod, Credence closes his eyes and turns his head away. It does nothing. Every crunch of bone has him wincing as the image returns to his mind fresh and vivid. Eventually, Giles is gurgling weakly on his own blood, and he hears his husband rise to his feet.

Whillum laughs. He actually laughs, and despite the fact that Credence is guarded, that Whillum is bound, and Percival is free and armed, the sound has him cowering down, arms curling up over his head.

"Are you going to kill me now?" Whillum asks.

Despite the instructions, and despite knowing better, Credence's eyes open, and he slowly turns his head, peeking around his arms. His husband straddles Whillum's thighs, and from his angle, all he can see is Percival's back and the other wizard's feet.

"No," Percival answers, and there's something unsettling about the calm of his tone. "Death is too good for you."

He sees his husband's hand rise, having drawn his wand. He taps it once and a knife appears right above it out of thin air. Slipping the wand away, he takes the knife instead. "I want you to wake up every day for a long time and remember this day," Percival explains. "I want you to wake up and remember what you did."

He should close his eyes again, cover his ears, Credence knows, but instead, his hands and nose are pressed against the bubble, eyes open wide.

"I want you to remember what you did," Percival continues. "Because you're not ever going to be able to do it to anybody ever again." A tear of fabric reaches his ears, and Whillum gasps in surprise. "You want personal, Whillum? You've got it."

Percival has the knife in his grasp, but his arms move in front of his body so that it's out of Credence's line of sight. It's not a stabbing motion. It's not even a swift motion. It's minimal. Deliberate. Slow. 

There's a sharp intake of breath from Whillum, and then the whole warehouse is filled with his shrieks, gravelly and broken, one after another, filling every crevice. Each pulse of his voice has Crednece cowering down a little lower, but his eyes never stray.

Whillum's legs twist and kick furiously, but Percival holds his ground. All he can see is Percival's back, but right next to his legs on the ground, a pool of blood starts growing rapidly.

"Percival, please!" Credence cries, followed by broken weeps.

"I told you not to look, Credence!" Percival shouts, not so much as glancing back.

"Please!" Credence sobs, clawing at the bubble. "Please, stop! Please! I want to go home, Percival! Please! Take me home! I want to go home..."

The kicking stops, and Percival goes still. Credence slumps, head dropping forward, feeble whimpers slipping from his lips, and the only reason tears aren't falling from his face is because he exhausted all of them.

Footsteps have him lifting his head, and the bubble around him disappears. Percival lowers to one knee right next to him, scooping Credence into his arms. "I'm so sorry, darling," he whispers. One hand reaches in his coat to take his wand back out, conjuring a warm rag, which he then takes and gently wipes Credence's face. "It's over. You're safe now. I'm so, so sorry."

Credence throws his arms around Percival's neck, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat, clutching onto him like a lifeline. Burying his face into his husband's chest, the floodgate is thrown open. He sobs and sobs and sobs, harsh tremors engulfing his whole body. He can only imagine how disgusting he must look, and it's beyond fathomable that Percival even wants to touch him, but the gratitude that fills him as Percival's strong arms securely wrap around him is immense.

Percival is patient, pulling him in tight to his chest as he rises to his feet. His head lowers to press a series of light kisses to the top of Credence's head as he whispers apology after apology.

Eventually, the sobs die down, and the tremble eases up. However, Credence keeps his face hidden, his voice muffled as he whispers, "I want to go home."

"I have to take you to the hospital," Percival explains gently. "You've been seriously hurt."

Credence's arms squeeze a little tighter. "Don't leave me alone. Please."

"I won't." Percival manages to get his wand in his hand all without letting go of Credence. "I'll stay with you the whole time. I promise."

Credence considers that. He would rather be alone right now. The idea of anyone's eyes on him, even healers', make him want to curl up and hide. However, he knows his husband is right, and as long as he is with him, he thinks he can manage it. Slowly, Credence nods against his chest.

Percival flicks his wrist, and they Disapparate.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated!


End file.
